


names like pain cries

by extremelyquestionable (TechnicalTragedy)



Category: The Derp Crew (Youtube RPF)
Genre: Anger, Coming Out, Homophobic Language, Kinda, M/M, Minor Violence, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-28
Updated: 2015-05-28
Packaged: 2018-04-01 17:26:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4028482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TechnicalTragedy/pseuds/extremelyquestionable
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He had a hard time of it, John did, but along the way he found friends who could be family. Meanwhile, Tom was always there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	names like pain cries

**Author's Note:**

> words used: seven, 3 am, bicycle, new couch, hands, gay, coming out, smarty with anger issues.
> 
> if the anger issues are misrepresented i apologize
> 
> title comes from Richard Siken's poem "Saying Your Names"

When John was seven, he fell off his bike. The fall skinned his knee up really badly and he gave the bike a few good kicks before he started crying, just sitting in the street next to the bicycle and sobbing into his hands, furious and in pain. The boy who had just moved in down the street from him approached after around ten minutes. He was a little older than John, with reddish hair and weird glasses. He squinted at John as he approached, then looked down at his knee.

“Did you fall off your bike?” the boy had asked.

John sniffled, but set his jaw. He wasn’t going to let this potential new friend think he was a wimp. “It doesn’t hurt much.”

The boy wrinkled his nose. “Really? It looks like it hurts. Do you want a band-aid? Mom just bought new ones. They have superheroes on them.”

John loved superheroes. “I love superheroes. Do you have Superman?”

The boy snorted. “Of course I have Superman. He’s the best.”

John held out a hand and the boy pulled him up. Once he was standing, John turned the hand up into a handshake. “I’m John,” he said.

The boy grinned crookedly back at him. “I’m Tom. Are we friends now?”

“Yeah,” John said. They didn’t let go of each other while they walked to Tom’s house, and John didn’t feel so angry at the bike anymore.

From then on, John and Tom were inseparable.

 

\- - -

 

John was thirteen when he had his first kiss. It was behind the gym after school, and it was a boy named Liam. It wasn’t great, as far as first kisses go. Their mouths pressed against each other awkwardly, too dry and at an awkward angle. Liam punched him in the face afterwards, and John got so mad he started crying. Liam had kissed him first.

The next day was when he earned the nickname “Smarty,” and it was one of the worst days of his life.

His science teacher, whose class John is struggling in, was the one who gave him the nickname. They were reviewing for a test, talking about covalent and ionic bonds, when the teacher called on him. “Hm. John, tell us what a covalent bond is,” the teacher said, and he had that look on his face, the look that said I know you know the answer to this so don’t disappoint me.

John’s palms started to sweat. He knew this, but everyone in the class was turning to him, staring at him and waiting for him to fail, to say something wrong like he always did. “A covalent bond…is…” It felt like his tongue was sticking to the roof of his mouth. He swallowed. A girl behind him giggled. John felt a rush of anger, followed quickly by the urge to throw up. “It’s a, um, it’s a bond between…elements, where they, uh, where they…” The teacher was smiling at him encouragingly. John panted, quickly glanced around. He found Tom’s eyes, his face, his lips curled up into a smile far more warm and encouraging than the teacher. Tom was proud of how much he’d already said, would stay proud of him even if he fucked up the last part. John felt himself relaxing, and turned back to the teacher. “A covalent bond is a bond between elements where they share their valence electrons,” he said, and the teacher’s smile softened.

“That’s correct, ‘Smarty,’” he said, like it was an inside joke.

“Smarty, psh, he’s an idiot,” a voice from behind John said, just quiet enough so that the teacher would hear and just loud enough so that John would.

“I hear he’s failing English. Who fails English? It’s the easiest class ever,” another voice said back.

John’s hands curled into fists below the table, rage coursing through him as he continued to listen to people talk bad about him for the rest of the class period. He didn’t look at Tom once, but John could feel his best friend looking at him.

It was lunchtime when it happened. John and Tom were at their usual table by the trash cans, shooting the shit as they typically did at lunch in between bites of whatever they had to eat. Tom asked him what had happened to his face just as The Wills, the two most popular guys in the eighth grade who just so happened to be best friends who were both named Will, went to throw their trash away. Will #1, the meaner of the two, stopped by John and Tom’s little table, and Will #2 had to stop since Will #1 had stopped.

“Hey, 'Smarty,’ what’re you eating today?” Will #1 asked, leaning one hand on the table and smiling unpleasantly at John.

John narrowed his eyes at Will #1. “Ham and cheese sandwich,” he said without inflection, and Will #1 nodded.

“Will, man, why are you asking him about his-” Will #2 started.

“Shut up, Will,” Will #1 interrupted, shooting a glare at his friend before turning back to John. “You enjoying your sandwich, Smarty?”

John had a bad feeling, and it wasn’t a feeling like the ham was bad or the cheese was moldy. “…Yes?” he said, and he didn’t mean for it to come out as a question.

“Good, good,” Will #1 said, nodding. He smiled again, just as unpleasant as the first time, and then he was shoving John’s food onto him without warning. John got covered in vanilla pudding and was left holding his sandwich dumbly, staring at Will #1 with wide eyes.

Will #2 looked as confused at John felt. “Dude, Will. What the hell, man? That wasn’t cool. Why’d you do that?”

Will #1 placed his hands on the table and leaned across it to get almost in John’s personal space. “What? You don’t like being covered with white stuff, queer? You like having meat in your mouth so much, I never would’ve guessed you didn’t like-”

John’s brain shuddered back into motion, processing what Will #1 was saying and turning those words to boiling anger in his gut. Will #1 knew what had happened with Liam after school. John’s jaw ached just thinking about it. Will #1 had seen, or Liam had told him, and John hadn’t wanted to label himself as anything but with Will #1 sneering at him and vanilla pudding in his lap and his hand turning into a fist around his sandwich, he felt defiantly, angrily gay.

“Yeah, I am gay. What about it, Will?” he said, words hard and hurting his throat as they left his mouth.

“I saw you kissing Liam. He’s not a fag like you, though, and he punched you. That’s what happened to your face, and you deserve it, queer,” Will #1 said, and it was honestly one of the lamest, stupidest things John had ever heard, but the rage he felt still racheted up a notch.

John knew things about Will #1, though; things he’d seen walking home from school, things he’d heard his parents whispering about. “What about you, Will? I know you kissed Clay two weeks ago and he told you that you were disgusting. I know your mom’s having sex with your maid and your dad’s been doing his secretary for three-” John didn’t get any farther before pain exploded in his nose. It was a much better punch than the one Liam had thrown the day before, hurt a lot more, but when John snapped his head back up he felt alive, the pain secondary to the adrenaline in his veins.

Will #1 was red in the face, furious, and John felt his heart pounding in his bloody nose. John launched himself across the table at Will with a noise that was half yell, half laugh. He and Will #1 went tumbling to the floor and John started waling on him, his hands balled so tightly into fists that his knuckles were white where they weren’t an angry red from the force of their impacts into Will #1. Distantly, John knew that Tom was yelling for him to stop, that Will #2 was trying to pull him away, but all John knew in the moment was Will #1 on the floor beneath him, eye swelling up while his lip was fat and bleeding.

Later, John stared the principal in the eyes as he got suspended, but then couldn’t meet the disappointment in his mother’s eyes when she came and picked him up. Even later than that, John overheard his mom talking to his dad, and the hitching in her voice meant she was crying.

“Where did we go wrong?” she asked, “He was such a smart, happy kid. What happened to my baby?”

John’s hands curled into fists and he went back to his room. He slipped out of the house once his parents were asleep and walked down the road to the small park on the corner.

r u awake? John texted Tom.

I’ll be at the park in five. Tom texted back, and John was reminded why Tom was his best friend.

Tom showed up in four and a half minutes and sat on the swings next to John. John’s hands were balled into fists in his lap, the skin on his knuckles scraped and bruised. Tom waited for him to speak.

“My parents are disappointed. My mom thinks it’s her fault,” John said eventually, without looking at Tom.

Tom was staring at him, John could feel it, but John refused to look back at him, instead rubbing his fists over the denim of his jeans to try and comfort himself. “You aren’t fucked up,” Tom said, getting right into the heart of things like he was in the habit of doing.

“I am. Or at least, I fucked up today,” John said, angry at himself and Will #1 and everything else. Except for Tom.

“You did fuck up today. You definitely shouldn’t have beat the shit out of Will, even if he deserved it. You got that covalent bond thing, though, that was good. And, hey, you kind of came out to the entire student body since I’m sure everyone will know by tomorrow, but that’d not necessarily a bad thing. Not everyone’s like Will,” Tom said, and he always knew just what to say to make John’s rage settle.

John sighed, his hands still fists, and slumped in the swing. “I just wish…” he trailed off, not sure what he wished.

“I know,” Tom said, and John thought maybe he did.

John expected that to be the end, for Tom to go home and let John stew by himself. Tom had school the next day, anyway. Tom stayed, though, he stayed and it was three in the morning before John’s hands relaxed and his palms finally pressed into his thighs, his fingers aching.

“You aren’t fucked up,” Tom said again, and he held John’s hand until John held his hand in return.

 

\- - -

 

High school wasn’t easy. John realized that he was absolutely, 100% gay, and came out to his parents in the eleventh grade. They didn’t really understand, but they supported him nonetheless. After he “officially” came out, high school didn’t magically get easier. It still sucked, people were still prejudiced and discriminatory. The only thing that didn’t change was the way Tom would smile at him with his whole face, how when John felt acidic anger in his gut Tom would hold his hand. It hadn’t been easy, but with Tom at his side, John felt like he was on top of the world.

College was easier, actually. Maybe not all the coursework, but the attitude shift as people figured out their own ideas instead of the reheated thought casserole their parents had taught them, made being openly gay much less harrowing. He made more friends in the form of Anthony and Steven, a couple who were disgustingly adorable, and a different Anthony, who they called Galm for reasons unknown to everyone. They were, as the girl in John’s American History class said, a “crew.” He found he quite liked the term, much more than he liked his American History class.

“We’re, like, the Gay Crew or something,” Anthony said one day, pretty much apropos of nothing.

“Hey, I’m ace,” Galm corrected.

Anthony gave him a look. “Wasn’t it just yesterday that you called yourself 'gay as hell’?”

Galm waved a hand. “That was a very pretty man, okay? You saw him. He looked like he was made of marble, or some shit. It was wild. And hey, I might be gay as hell, but I’m also very much ace and in a relationship with Myla, a female, who is beautiful and amazing.

"My statement still stands,” Anthony said, gesturing broadly around at all of them. “Gay Crew.”

Tom nodded. “I like it.” He shifted on the couch to face John and suddenly made a face. “Okay, okay. As soon as we have any money at all, John, we’re gonna replace this fucking couch. I think I can feel a spring on my asshole.”

John thought about it. Tom was right, actually. “You’re right. This is a pretty shitty couch. That’s what we get for picking it up off the curb, I guess.”

“Once we have the money,” Tom said, holding out a hand, and John shook it.

“Once we have the money,” he agreed.

Anthony coughed to get their attention. “We could all pitch in, you know. Your apartment is kind of our main hang out spot. We gotta take care of our crew.”

Steven frowned, lifting his head from where it’d been buried in Anthony’s neck. “We don’t have any money. Don’t promise them money.”

Anthony rolled his eyes. “Go back to sleep, Stevie. The couch will come later and you just had an exam so you should sleep now while you have time.”

“Fuck off, don’t tell me what to do,” Steven grumbled, but his face returned to the junction of Anthony’s neck and shoulder and he went back to sleep anyway.

“You don’t have to pitch in,” John said, “I wouldn’t ask you to do that.”

Anthony shrugged. “If we help out or not, we’re still gonna crash on the couch half the time. I would prefer a nice couch.”

Tom sighed and Galm flicked the TV on. It was as good a distraction as any, John supposed, settling in to watch whatever Galm landed on, which happened to be Indiana Jones, and not the shitty Crystal Skull one.

 

\- - -

 

“Pivot!” Anthony yelled from up the stairs, and John was starting to get pissed. It had been funny the first time, when they’d all snickered at the Friends reference, but after the ninth time it was getting a little old.

“Shut the fuck up, Anthony,” Steven said so John wouldn’t have to.

“This was a bad idea, guys. Why didn’t we hire people for this?” Tom panted, glaring at the couch.

After about nine hours (more like one hour, but John was prone to exaggeration) they finally had the new couch in the apartment. Anthony collapsed onto it immediately and groaned, stretching out.

“This is a nice fucking couch,” he said, voice muffled by how his face was smushed into the cushions.

“Move your legs,” Steven said, swatting at his calf. Anthony grumbled but raised his legs, letting Steven sit down before putting his feet down in his boyfriend’s lap.

John rolled his eyes at them, falling onto the other couch, which they’d moved across the room. Tom joined him a moment later as Galm took up his usual armchair in the corner next to the floor lamp.

It was pretty nice, being surrounded by friends. They were tired but feeling successful, and Galm was already dozing off. He had a special talent for being able to fall asleep pretty much anywhere. One by one, though, John’s friends fell asleep, until Tom was the only one awake with him.

Tom looked over at him and smiled. Their hands tangled together and John relaxed at the contact, not even having realized he was tense before. “Life’s good, isn’t it?” Tom said quietly.

John looked around at his sleeping friends. He leaned against Tom’s shoulder with a sigh. “Yeah, life’s good.”

“How long has it been since your last…” Tom started, let the question hang in the air like a helium balloon. John knew what he wasn’t saying. He hadn’t been really angry in a long time.

John turned his face more into Tom’s shoulder. “A while. Life is good.”

After a long pause, as if he was hesitating, Tom pressed a gentle kiss to the top of John’s head. It didn’t feel like change, but it didn’t feel quite the same, either. John was calm, in control, and Tom was his anchor, the wind in his sails. Tom was the lighthouse that kept him from crashing against the rocks. Tom brought him back to shore and John loved the feeling of sand under his feet.

John let himself doze off, comfortable and happy and surrounded by all kinds of love. Anger wasn’t even on his radar.

Life was good.


End file.
